


"I'd really rather not."

by Stone_99



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, College of Winterhold Questline, Immersive College of Winterhold, Modded Skyrim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Skyrim Main Quest, Skyrim Main Quest, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stone_99/pseuds/Stone_99
Summary: Hamelyn Swet has led a hard life. He's been beaten, battered, bruised, cursed, captured, hunted and hassled from one end of Skyrim to the other. He would be perfectly content to slip into a comfortable, quiet life with his books and spells, but there's a small problem.Fate has apparently decided to make him famous.
Kudos: 1





	"I'd really rather not."

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1: In which Hamelyn arrives in Winterhold and is given a pop quiz.

Hamelyn hated blizzards. Sure, snow was nice when it was a freshly-fallen white blanket coating the otherwise drab, rocky ground, but blizzards were just overkill. He trudged through the whistling wind, one gloved hand clutching his robes tightly around him and the other holding a flickering oil lantern aloft in front of him. It didn't cast much light in the stormy weather, but it at least helped to warn him of any stray sticks on the road ahead. The Breton had been making his way slowly north for nearly two weeks now, travelling up through the icy wastes by day and making camp by night. According to the half-torn map stuffed in the battered pack hanging from his shoulders he was almost to his destination. It was a good thing too. Hamelyn wasn't sure how many more cold nights he could take under a leaky tent with only his dirty blue robes and a tiny campfire for warmth.

After he'd woken up in some random ditch with a splitting headache and missing his coin purse he decided it was high time he sought gainful employment. Hamelyn had chosen to head north for two simple reasons. One, after the last coven he belonged to had been scattered by the thick-skulled louts who called themselves the Companions, he needed a job. And two, the only positions in Skyrim for mages that wouldn't get a man sent to the gallows by an angry mob were court wizards and the College of Winterhold. Winterhold was by far the more attainable option of the two. So began his long trek north, hounded by wolves, skeevers, mudcrabs, a wild-eyed jester that he'd steered clear of, and finally inclement weather. Hamelyn had to admit, he was starting to regret not taking his mother's advice and settling down on a farm all those years ago.

Still, what was done was done. The man continued to shiver his way through the falling snow with only the light of his lantern to guide him. It couldn't have been more than a few more miles to the edge of the city, right? As Hamelyn rounded the side of a crag he was met with a bone-chilling gust straight from the Sea of Ghosts itself, carrying salty air and dusting his unkempt black beard with white flecks of ice. At least he was close to the coast now. With another shiver and a quick brushing of his beard he forged on, now confident that the city couldn't be much farther ahead. 

His intuition proved to be correct. After five more minutes of his boots sinking into the snow he found himself facing a crumbling old archway, the doors having long since been blasted off the rusty hinges. Ordinarily he would have taken a moment to inspect the stonework, but Hamelyn had no time for that today. Today, his eyes were on the horizon. Dark shapes towered over him in the distance through the storm. They loomed like the frozen fingers of a giant, reaching up to the sky in one last desperate plea to the uncaring gods. Hamelyn had heard the College was impressive, but if the silhouette in the driving snow was anything to go by it was a truly remarkable complex. The ruined city surrounding it, however, was... Not. Winterhold had been decaying ever since the Great Collapse all those years ago, her walls sinking into the icy ground and her people moving away in droves. Hamelyn passed by boarded window after boarded window along the main street. Apparently the only buildings still operable were the inn, a general store, and what looked to be an old storehouse haphazardly converted into a Jarl's palace. With how little lumber there was in the region it didn't surprise him that they would have to modify existing structures rather than build new ones. Still, the thought of a high-and-mighty Jarl living in comparative squalor did bring a smile to the Breton's face. He continued down the curve of the main street, dodging half-buried carts and a pair of arguing drunks. What they were doing out in the cold he had no idea. 

After side-eyeing the man and woman yelling at each other over the wind Hamelyn finally arrived at his destination. A much more well-preserved gate stood at the top of a staircase, guarded by two faceless robed statues each bearing an orb of light in their outstretched hands. He was definitely in the right place. Once he crossed the threshold onto the stairs the wind suddenly vanished, replaced by still, cold air that muffled the sound of the storm and left his breath hanging in a cloud before his face. Already he could feel the magic locked away in the stones beneath his feet. It called to him with a quiet, constant hum, ancient and powerful, whispering of untold secrets and rituals that permeated the rock. He had felt this feeling in the ancient ruins his former coven inhabited, but there it had been a dormant force in the background. Here, the magicka was alive. Hamelyn ascended the stairs, lowering his lantern and knocking a bit of snow off of the railing. Although there was apparently an enchantment to keep out the wind, it did not extend to the white flakes drifting slowly by and settling on the entrance. However, no sooner had he reached the top and started to dust himself off than yet another obstacle arrived to block his progress. 

"Cross the bridge at your own peril," said an Altmer woman who had been hidden in a corner of the rectangular gateway. "The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open." Hamelyn stopped and looked her over with a bit of a frown. She carried herself with dignity, standing tall and poised with the confidence of someone who had lived a good two or three centuries beyond most of the people she was used to speaking with. Her robes were immaculate, freshly-pressed and free of any dirt or snow. Eyes the color of amber stared down at him, and Hamelyn blearily realized that the high elf was a good head taller than he was. "... I'm sorry, I don't think we've been properly introduced," the Breton began only to cough and clear his throat. His voice was cracking thanks to how little he had used it over the past weeks. "My name is Hamelyn Swet," he continued after collecting himself, dipping his head from beneath his tattered hood. "I was told the College is looking for new members?"

The Altmer raised an eyebrow and wrinkled her nose slightly. With an inward cringe, Hamelyn realized how he must look. His clothes were dirty, his beard was covered in ice, his face was haggard... Not to mention he didn't smell his best. "We are," she replied in an even tone. "I am Faralda, one of the senior wizards here." "Yes, yes, pleasure to meet you," he said, cutting her off and craning his neck to look at the path she was currently blocking. "Now, if you don't mind too terribly, can we continue this somewhere where I won't get frostbite?" Hamelyn looked back up to Faralda expectantly, only to realize that the elf hadn't budged an inch. "Not just anyone is allowed inside. Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic," she stated with a slight edge to her voice. Clearly she was judging him. "A small test, if you will."

Hamelyn's frown deepened slightly beneath his beard. "I just hiked through a blizzard to get here, can I at least have a moment by a fire to warm up my fingers first?" Faralda canted her head slightly and raised up her left hand, holding her palm upwards before him. Almost instantly a small orb of crackling fire flared to life between her curled fingers, casting an orange light along her golden skin. She then lowered her hand down to Hamelyn's level in a silent invitation. As he hooked his lantern to his belt and reached up to flex and melt the ice from his fingers she began to speak once again. "What is it you expect to find within the College's walls?" "Besides a warm bed?" His grumbled answer did not amuse Faralda. "... I'm a conjurer," Hamelyn sighed, flipping his hands over to warm the other side. "I'd like a chance to learn how to control daedra without being run out of town, if that's not too much to ask."

Faralda seemed to mull that answer over before nodding slowly. "The denizens of Oblivion are conniving and powerful, yes. And unlike some other institutions, we do not judge those who call upon their strength." That statement was music to Hamelyn's ears. Finally he would be able to ply his craft openly without having to dodge pitchforks or work with the cave-dwelling psychopaths that infested Skyrim's various backwaters. It was about time. However, Faralda wasn't done. "The Flame Atronach is a vital companion for anyone relying on Cojuration. Summoning one here would certainly show your skill." Hamelyn glanced over his shoulder, looking back down the staircase at the raging storm beyond. The wind seemed to be picking up speed, having driven the pair of drunks back inside and making it downright impossible to spot anyone else. "I can do that," he replied, returning his attention to the elf. "Just need a moment to focus." She dipped her head and snuffed out the ball of fire hovering above her palm, stepping back a few feet to give him room to work and watching him intently. 

With the blood back in his hands and a clear task set before him Hamelyn raised his right hand, readying himself. Calling a creature from Oblivion was no easy feat. The technique taught by his coven had left many an acolyte consumed by Conjurer's Burn, the flesh of their hands blistered and bubbled with their liquefied brains dripping out of their noses. Thankfully the Breton had managed to avoid such a fate through careful study and no small amount of willpower. In a gesture similar to the one Faralda had used to summon up fire he curled his fingers, mimicking the talons of a bird and holding his hand aloft. He shut his eyes to focus and opened his mind to the daedric realms in order to search for a worthy servant. Almost immediately he was beset by dark whispers echoing in his brain, whispering insidious promises of power unimaginable at the cost of his soul. As usual, he shut them out and went about his business. A conjurer who couldn't ignore the voices of the void was bound to fail, after all. An orb of inky blackness that seemed to absorb all light around it manifested in his outstretched hand as he increased the strength of his call. It didn't take long for the summoner to receive an answer. Hamelyn opened his eyes as he found the telltale mind of an atronach brushing against his from the plane beyond. He latched onto it and forced his will upon the blazing demon's psyche, wrestling it into submission as an eerie purple glow began to emanate from the spell in his palm. With a final push of magicka he thrust his arm out, expelling the ball onto the ground before him as it grew into a gaping portal that snapped shut as soon as it had deposited the atronach from the other side. 

The entire process had taken around thirty seconds, but the results spoke for themselves. Standing between Hamelyn and Faralda was a hovering spirit of fire encased in strips of blackened metal, binding the roiling flames into a roughly humanoid shape. It flowed through the air effortlessly as though swimming, casting light and an intense heat upon its surroundings. For a moment a brief frisson of fear ran up Hamelyn's spine as he beheld his handiwork, but his apprehension was dwarfed by the sense of pride and accomplishment that ran through him whenever he successfully called upon magic. He did this. He, Hamelyn Swet, had done this all by himself. It was his power that had summoned the demon into Mundas, not anyone else's, and it was under his control until the binding inevitably failed and it was sent back to its own plane. "There we are," he stated with a nod around the atronach at Faralda. "One Flame Atronach, as promised."

"Well done indeed," she replied. Hamelyn's usual frown twisted into a smug look of satisfaction at the Altmer's praise. "I think you'll be a superb addition to the College. Welcome, apprentice." His smile faded slightly at the title but he supposed it couldn't be helped. Every wizard looked down on others, and every organization of magic users thought their own curriculum was superior. It was far better to be called an apprentice than be called an acolyte or a sacrifice, he reasoned. "I'll lead you across the bridge. Once you're inside you'll want to speak with Mirabelle Ervine, our Master Wizard. Please, follow me." With that Faralda turned to make her way onward past the snow-dusted gateway, leaving Hamelyn and his atronach to follow along behind her. He took a deep breath as he crossed the threshold. After a horrible past few years, finally things were starting to look up. The Breton glanced over his shoulder to the blazing creature floating behind him. "Follow me. Do not harm anyone. Do not damage anything." Its shoulders seemed to slump at the explicitly non-violent instructions given, but it obeyed and stuck close by. He didn't want to expend the extra effort to banish the creature when it would only last for a few minutes anyway. Besides, walking into the College flanked by a daedra would surely impress his new peers. The smug look crept back up on Hamelyn's face as he started along the icy bridge behind Faralda. 

He would finally be given the respect and power he deserved.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first attempt at fanfiction. Let me know if you enjoy it! With the world going to shit, I'm gonna try (and probably fail) to put out a chapter a week. Next up: Ham isn't given the respect and power he thinks he deserves.


End file.
